Blindness
by and the echoes
Summary: It wasn't that he was blind, her Marius, just that he preferred to see the good in the world. But she'd seen enough to know that the world, her world, was not good at all. Eponine/Marius one-sided fic, multi-chaptered.
1. Mistake

It wasn't so much that he was literally blind, her Marius-and she still thought of him as hers, though she had no right, no claim to him at all-but that he preferred to believe in the goodness of the world and in its salvation rather than look at the dark underbelly of it. And Éponine had seen too much of that darkness, had spent too much of her life in it, to ignore it.

* * *

It started when she was small, a year after Cosette had left and when her father decided that little Éponine was now old enough to go on what her father liked to call 'errands' and she liked to think of as theft, though he never stated explicitly that's what it was. Little Éponine had messed up, that time, had gotten them caught when she made a child's mistake, and she could see the fury in her father's entire being as he jerked her along to their home.

"Papa, you're hurting me," she said softly, but he did not hear her, and as she grew older she realized that was his intent. When they were a block away from the inn he turned the small girl around to face him and delivered a sharp, swift blow across her face. The slap stung and Éponine cried out, and her father gripped her arm tighter and hurried her along.

No mention of the slap was made when they reached the house, nothing was said of the failed mission. But that night Éponine felt a new terror gripping at her from inside, as she curled up on the small cot in her bedroom. Why she was so afraid she could not explain-she'd seen her father's violence before, but this, this was new, this was directed at her.

She heard footsteps on the stairs, and for the first time, she stiffened-though surely, surely it was just one of the inn's many guests. But these were heavier, these sounded like footsteps she'd heard all her life.

The feet paused outside her door. Retreated. Came back, and paused again, and the terror felt like ice through her veins. Her door opened, and she could see the silhouette of her father in the doorway. The sight of the man did not comfort her.

"Éponine," he whispered, and she did not reply.

She heard his footsteps approach her, felt his weight on the end of her bed, and she knew what was coming. She'd overheard too many crude tales from her parents about men and women in the inn, and somehow, she knew.

"This is your punishment," Thénardier whispered. "Since all you're ever going to be is a whore, you have to learn your place."

Over the years, it was a lesson she learned; from both her father and his friends. And until M'sieur Marius came along, that was all she believed she would be good for.


	2. Mercy

**53 hits and no reviews? 'Tis a crime, friends. **

* * *

_Seven years later. _

The streets were dirty; filthy even, and likewise so were the soles of her feet. The inn, by now, was gone; Éponine and her family were on the streets. Her mother had grown more ignorant, her father nastier, and Éponine thinner (and as her father liked to reminder, uglier than a common whore).

She took full part in the raids now, but oh, how she hated it. The only bright spot of her day-indeed, the only bright spot in her life, really, was the glimpses she would catch of Marius.

She loved him, she thought; rather, she loved the idea of him, the hope and goodness he brought to her, if such a thing could truly exist for Éponine Thénardier. And today, this day, she was delighted to run into him again.

"Hey, Éponine, what's up today?" he said, and the way he said her name made her heart skip. "Haven't seen you much about."

She shrugged. She'd kept her distance from him, for her father and Montparnasse had taken to watching her closer than ever, these days.

"You can always catch me here, m'sieur," she said.

"Well, mind the police don't."

She grinned at him and deftly took a book from his grasp. "What're you doin' with all these books, Marius?" she asked, a twinge of jealousy lighting in her as she struggled to read the title. She caught him looking at her, at her trying to read, and her face flushed. She handed the book back to him. "I could've been a student, too," she said defiantly. "Don't judge me, m'sieur, just cause I can't read don't mean that I don't know a lot. I do."

Something crossed Marius' face-pity, was it? Éponine scowled.

"Poor Éponine, what you know you can't find in books like these," he said softly.

She stuck her hand out, ran her fingers through his hair, and he ducked away. "I like the way you grow your hair," she said, if only to change the subject.

"I like the way you tease," he retorted, and smiled at her. But he didn't see the shadow that fell behind her, the one she felt and had been trying to run from most of her life. Her father.

Marius had glimpsed him, she saw the look on his face, and he took a few steps back, turning his back on the girl.

"Little he knows," Éponine murmured as her father gripped her arm. "Little he sees."

Thénardier jerked Éponine to his side. "If I catch you with that bourgeois trash again I'll make you pay."

"Yes, papa," she said, and stiffened, back straightening. Her father clapped his hands together, readying his gang for their next attack-some old man and a young girl Thénardier had picked out earlier.

"Stay on the job and watch out for the law with Montparnasse," Madame Thénardier instructed. Éponine flinched away from the man, quickly turning from him, and found herself face to face with Marius.

"Éponine-" he started.

"Stay out of this-go on, you'll be in trouble here! This isn't your concern!" she said, panicked. Her father could not see him there.

"Who is that man?" Marius asked, pointing to the stranger.

"Leave me alone!" Éponine cried, pulling away from him to rejoin the gang. She ran from Marius, ran to catch up with her father, and only turned in time to see Marius run into a girl, a pretty thing with golden locks. A girl that looked too familiar to Éponine.

_Cosette_. The name stung her like a barb. Cosette. The girl who'd been saved by a stranger, the girl who'd managed to get away, unlike Éponine. The girl who'd been spared her fate.

"Watch for the law, Éponine," Montparnasse warned, his hand trailing down the small of her back. "They're of no concern to you."

She slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me."

"I'll do what I like, you little slut," he hissed, but something beyond Éponine caught Montparnasse's eye, and she could see the fear dancing there. She turned. From their hiding place she could see the police, riding in on horses.

And now she could see her father, staggering up to the man with Cosette, working his charm-what little he had-for all it was worth, trying to get him to spare a sous. Even from the distance she could see the fury on his face-so he'd recognized them, too.

The police drew nearer, and Éponine drew in a breath.

"It's the police!" she cried out, and her father and the man turned. "Run for it! It's Javert!"

All at once everything was set in motion. Éponine tore herself away from Montparnasse, running. Javert could not catch her; she was too quick, she knew where to hide. She ducked down a back alley and into a doorway, her thin frame concealed in the shadows. She could see Javert questioning her father, saw the man and Cosette flee-and her heart sunk as she saw Marius, too, looking around bewildered. She prayed her father didn't see him.

She wanted to wave, wanted somehow to catch his attention, but she realized with a start he wasn't looking for her. He was looking for the girl. Cosette.

Oh, she prayed he wouldn't find her, that her bright light might be stolen away by another.

Éponine shook her head. Cosette-how the tides had turned since they were children, how the wheel had turned around. Cosette had been the one in rags and Éponine in finery. Now she could recall the girl's shining golden hair, the elegant blue dress she was wearing. Éponine looked down at her own tattered rags, bare feet, dirty brown hair that hadn't been washed in quite some time, and the shame burned through her.

"What's become of me?" she whispered. But she looked up, and there he was-her Marius, heading towards her. So he had spotted her! But there was a look on his face unlike any she'd seen before, and her heart began to sink as he walked past her.

"Good god, what a rumpus!" she cried out as she ran to catch up with him.

"Who was that girl?" he murmured, more to himself than her. Her face fell, but she kept on following him down the alley.

"That cop, he ain't so smart, is he? Not like us, anyway," she said proudly. Marius, as if finally recognizing she was there, turned to her.

"Éponine, who was that girl?" he asked her, face shining with hope. A knot formed in her stomach. If he knew, if he found Cosette, then her light, her small beacon of hope, would forever be gone to her.

"Some bourgeoise two-a-penny thing," she muttered, hoping to make him lose interest.

"Éponine, will you find her for me?" Marius pleaded, and she could not bear to see him so despondent. "I'm lost until you do."

She drew in a breath. "What'll you give me?"

"Anything," he said, fumbling about in his pockets.

"Got you all excited now, but God knows what you see in her," Éponine said, trying one last time to throw him off Cosette. "Ain't you all delighted, m'sieur?" she teased, stepping back from Marius as he pulled out five francs. Her face clouded.

"No-I don't want your money, _sir_," she said, spitting the last word at him. He wouldn't pay her like... like...

_Like some common whore_, her father's voice said in hear head, and she shook it off.

"Éponine, please," Marius pleaded. "Please discover where she lives. But be careful-don't let your father know," he warned. For even Marius, Marius who knew nothing of her father's threats or pain, could still sense how dangerous the man was.

"You see, I told you I know lots," she said lightly, but he had gone. She sighed and turned to head back, away from Marius and away from the light he brought. Deep down, she knew she would help-she couldn't bear to see him so unhappy.

She just prayed she wouldn't pay for it later.


	3. Happiness

Marius had gone to the café; she could see the bright lights, the silhouettes of the students through tattered curtains. Oh, how she longed to be one of them, to be in there fighting for some greater cause. To be near her Marius...

As it was, she was home-rather, the little hole in the wall her parents thought of as a home. But it wasn't a home, it wasn't warm and inviting but rather cold and dark and damp, and she hated it.

Her father was sitting by the fireplace on a chair, Montparnasse beside him, the two men leering at Éponine. She flinched, but even when she turned away she could feel their eyes on her. The thought made her sick, made her tremble, but she tried not to let it show. She was good at hiding her fear at this point.

Éponine turned her face back to the bright lights of the café. Even from a distance she could hear the commotion inside, could hear the raucous shouts and cries for revolution. She ached to be there, to be anywhere but the hell she was in now. On the wind she caught a whiff of something, some baked treasure, and her stomach grumbled all the louder. She hadn't eaten today, save for a scrap of bread she'd stolen from some beggar.

Stealing from the poor, when she herself wasn't any better. The irony struck her.

"Éponine." Her father's gravelly voice sounded right behind her, and she jumped.

She couldn't stay there, wasn't going to stay there with her father and those men.

So she jumped up and ran, ignoring her father's shouts behind her. She was going to find Cosette.

She was going to make her Marius happy.

* * *

It didn't take her long to find the house at Rue Plumet; indeed, she'd been in that area a few times with her father in past raids. She was certain it was the man and girl, she could see them through the window.

Oh, the tenderness he looked at Cosette with. Her father had never looked at her in such a way, never shown her any tenderness. Not in ten years, he hadn't. The only looks he gave her were of anger and lust. Jealousy flamed in her chest.

This girl, this Cosette, could give Marius a happy life. And her-Éponine, a street urchin, no better than a whore, what had she to offer him?

Nothing. That was what. Éponine furiously wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand and headed back to the bright lights of the café to see her Marius and give him his happiness.

**Sorry this chapter was so short; the next one will be longer and cover In My Life/Heart Full of Love and the Attack on Rue Plumet. Thanks to my two reviewers Athena Writer 24601 and PenAndInkPrincess, and to everyone following the story. **

**If you like it so far, please review!**


	4. Blind

**Sorry for the long wait between updates; I've started back another semester in college and don't have as much time. This chapter doesn't incorporate the lyrics so much, and it does get a bit dark toward the end, so warnings for that. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, reviews are loved.**

Marius had made her promise not to follow him when he went to see Cosette-she'd shown him the way, he said, and that was enough. Éponine knew the real reason, though-he didn't want her father to know where the girl lived, didn't want him to find them. And Éponine knew he was right; still, it hurt being pushed away.

But still. She wanted to follow, wanted to catch a glimpse of the Lark, all grown up now. She wanted to see this girl who would bring her Marius so much happiness.

The rough brick of the outer wall pressed against her back. She made sure to stay flattened against the wall so Marius could not see her; in the dim streetlights she could see the outline of his face, that face that brought her so much happiness.

And now she could hear the girl's voice, too-Cosette, although whispering, had a voice as clear as a bell. Éponine's hand rose to her own throat-her voice had become scratchier and more worn in the years since she'd grown and suddenly she hated the sound of it, hated the throaty, low roughness she'd taken on. She could never compare.

But what was worse, what was truly killing her to watch him, was the happiness she could see on his face, even from such a distance. It was the same happiness he brought to hers, she knew, and such a happiness that she could never give him. She knew that, but such a sight still felt like a dagger in her heart. How happy this girl made him! This girl who, last Éponine had seen, had been nothing more than a scrap who looked like she could blow away in the wind.

Éponine dug her fingers into the spaces of her collarbones, felt the sharp angles of her body-compared with the softness of this girl, this girl who hadn't known hunger for the longest time, how could she compare? Who was the scrap of trash now?

A rough voice jerked Éponine out of her thoughts, and she saw a group of men rounding the corner, staggering. Her heart sank when she heard a voice she recognized-her father's voice. So he and his men were here, on another robbery.

Her heart thudded. Marius. Her father couldn't know he was here.

Without clearly thinking about what she was doing, about the implications, she stepped out of the shadows, directly in the path of her father and his men. "Evenin', gents."

"What have we here?" Thénardier staggered up to the girl, clearly drunk. He took hold of her chin and she steadied herself.

"Don't you recognize your girl, man?" a voice asked.

"Éponine," Thénardier spat. "Get out of the way, girl."

"I shan't."

"You shall, or there'll be punishment for you later," he hissed.

"Come father, there are six of you, and I am the rest of the world should I call or scream," she said shakily. "You... you don't need to do this. There's nothing valuable here."

"I'll tell you if there's something valuable once we've had a look. Out of the way, Éponine, you're only getting in the way. I'll see you go hungry later."

"I am always hungry, what is more hunger to me? If you step any further, father, I shall scream," she said. Nothing was in her head now except protecting her Marius. She couldn't let her father find him. Couldn't lose what little happiness she had left in her life-and there is nothing more dangerous than a girl with little to nothing left to lose.

"I'll give you something to scream about," Thénardier said, and in that instant he was at her throat, blade of a knife barely knicking her skin. Éponine opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream, and she heard scuffling and boots hurrying as a light in the house turned on. Her father's hand clasped tightly over her mouth, and she knew punishment was coming, but for now her Marius was safe, and with that knowledge she could get through anything.

Or so, she thought.

* * *

Thénardier's grip was surprisingly strong for a man constantly on the brink of starving, and Éponine knew there would be fresh bruises on her the following morning. Anger radiated off her father as he jerked her along, not unlike he had done all those nights ago when she'd messed up the other robbery, back when they still lived at the inn. And, like that night, she knew she had something more than a beating waiting for her.

Her back met the wall of the closest alley, and Éponine winced as her father's rough hands began to tear at her already torn clothing. She felt the sharp blade of the knife at her throat, and she kept her mouth shut.

"You want to scream like some whore, then that's what you'll do," he hissed as he slapped her across the face, skirts rising above her thighs now as her father fumbled with the belt on his trousers. "This'll teach you to disobey me, you slut."

"Papa," she whispered, but in his rage the man did not hear her. She had not called him that since she was small but suddenly Éponine's bravado and bravery disappeared and she felt again like a small child powerless to help herself.

She was determined not to cry out, not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her crying, but the pain of her father and the rough wall behind her back were too much for her to bear, and she cried out at the sharp pain in her body that was now breaking her in two.

"Shut your mouth," Thénardier grunted. "I won't have you calling for help this time."

Éponine whimpered. No one would come for help if she called, at any rate-for if someone should look in on the scene, what would they see? Just an old man and common whore, not unlike any number of scenes down by the docks.

No, there was no light coming to save her tonight, for tonight the world was blind.


End file.
